Don't Look Down
by The Lady Elrond
Summary: When Frollo needs to avoid the Archdeacon, Quasimodo has an unorthodox solution. PreHoND.


**Don't Look Down**

"You've done this before?"

"No."

Quasimodo smiled as Esmeralda gasped and tightened her grip on him. That wasn't quite the truth of course, but this probably wasn't the best time - or place - for a trip down memory lane, he decided, as he leaped across the turrets of Notre Dame, his precious cargo clinging to his malformed back. Five years ago, Quasimodo had been in an eerily similar situation - albeit with a rather less alluring passenger on board...the very person he was, against his better judgement, defying at this very moment...

**x X x**

"Quasimodo!"

The bell ringer flinched at the sound of his master's harsh voice and stumbled which, considering he was balanced precariously on an elaborately decorated ledge more than one hundred feet above the ground, was an extremely risky thing to do. Claude Frollo, who was perched awkwardly on his fifteen year old ward's back, raised his eyes skyward and prayed that he would not end his life as a large crimson splat on the stone cobbles below them.

"Yes, master?"

"Stop for moment and, for Heaven's sake, do stand still!"

"Master?" Quasimodo's bandy legs shook with the strain of balancing on such a small ledge.

Frollo scowled, "I acknowledge that I had little choice but to agree to this..._unorthodox _mode of transport, but I have to insist that we go about this business with as much dignity as is possible under the circumstances. Do you understand?"

"I-"

"Oh, just forget it! Let me down for a moment boy...I need to...rearrange my hosiery," Quasimodo stifled a snigger and managed - but only just - to look innocent and nonchalant when Frollo shot him a withering glance, "I do not particularly relish the idea of the whole of Paris looking up and seeing me with my..._ahem_...unmentionables on display."

This time Quasimodo could not control himself and, to Frollo's consternation, erupted into peals of hysterical laughter. Frollo waited impatiently until he had calmed down before cuffing him across the head, "Idiot boy...I'll wager that you don't even know what I meant by unmentionables."

"No, master," Quasimodo knelt, allowing Frollo to climb onto his back with ease, and wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, "You are right, as always...what _are _'unmentionables'?"

Frollo's parchment-like skin reddened, "Well, I-erm-it is sinful to think of such things-so-I-"

"And when you said 'wager'...you didn't really mean _gambling_ did you master? Because I thought gambling was wrong..."

"Of course I didn't!" Frollo snapped, "Now hurry! At the rate we're going, I'm going to miss my appointment...all this fuss just to avoid that fool of an Archdeacon..."

Quasimodo smiled as he reached the end of the ledge - he would never understand the animosity between his master and the Archdeacon. Frollo always did his utmost to steer clear of the holy man, who insisted upon _'meddling in his affairs'_ and lecturing him each time they had the misfortune to cross paths - today was a prime example of this. The Archdeacon was gunning for Frollo following a disagreement over the Judge's ongoing persecution of the city's gypsy community. Having been forewarned of this, Frollo had spent the day anguishing over how best to avoid his adversary - he had to go to the Cathedral to visit Quasimodo and the old coot was sure to catch him out there. He managed to get in without incident but, on his way out, Frollo had noticed the Archdeacon hovering around the entrance - no doubt he had been informed of Frollo's arrival by one of the monks. It was whilst he was contemplating his escape that Quasimodo had suggested an alternative route out of Notre Dame and Frollo, in his desperation, had - much to his adopted son's amazement - agreed to the bell ringer's crazy scheme.

"And how I wish I hadn't!" Frollo cursed under his breath, his heart in his throat as Quasimodo leapt from gargoyle to gargoyle - indeed, with his face twisted in a rictus of fear, Frollo could easily have passed for one of the stone monsters.

"Don't worry master! We're almost down!" Quasimodo called as he gripped one of Frollo's bony legs - he was only fifteen - sixteen in May - but could lift his master with ease. However, Quasimodo's strength was no comfort to the terrified Frollo, whose thin arms encircled his neck so tightly that, for a while, the bell ringer was under threat of strangulation.

Then, with a sudden jolt, they landed on the stone arch which framed the oak doors of the Cathedral.

"Thank the saints," Frollo murmured as Quasimodo gently set him down on the ground. The Judge was, with good reason, wobbly on his feet and his grey hair was almost standing on end but at least he was in one piece. After slicking down his hair with shaking hands, he reached into his robes, took out his hat and put it on before turning to Quasimodo with a weak smile.

"Well my boy, you're quite an acrobat."

Quasimodo grinned and was about to reply when the Cathedral doors opened and the Archdeacon emerged.

"Ah, Minister Frollo - just the man I wanted to see. I wonder if I might have a word with you in private?"

The look of absolute horror on Frollo's face was almost as hilarious as his earlier panic over his unmentionables and it was all Quasimodo could do to keep from dissolving into laughter as the Judge followed the Archdeacon into Notre Dame with gritted teeth.

Poor old Frollo.


End file.
